


In the Quiet Moments of the Night

by visionshadows



Series: The Life and Times of Duck McDonald [5]
Category: Wilby Wonderful (2004)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 21:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visionshadows/pseuds/visionshadows





	In the Quiet Moments of the Night

Duck's house was crowded with hardware and painting supplies, all of the tools of his trade. Everything was neat as a pin though, and when Emily stepped into the living room, she felt at home for the first time since coming to Wilby. Duck's couch was covered with a homemade patchwork quilt and ancient throw pillows that matched the quilt. Emily wanted to go lie down and be wrapped in the quilt like a child, but she instead sat on one of the chairs.

"I'll get you a drink," Duck murmured and slipped into the kitchen, leaving Emily alone in the quiet, neat living room. She looked at the pictures on the wall, black and white photos of people she guessed were Duck's family members. There was a picture of Duck standing next to a man wearing a black trench coat and smoking a cigarette. They both were smiling. She got up to go look at the photos, specifically the one of Duck smiling.

Emily turned when Duck came back in the room, a glass of water in his hands. He was still wearing his coat, the lines around his mouth a little tight from worry. She went back over to the chair and accepted the water with a grateful smile.

"You'll learn to spot the bad ones," Duck said to her after a few minutes of silence. "When you've been around a few times."

Emily looked back over at the photo. "Was he a bad one?"

Duck followed her gaze, his eyes lighting on the photo before he looked back at her. "Would I keep his picture around if he was?"

Emily flushed, feeling all of sixteen under Duck's knowing gaze. "Probably not."

"Definitely not. Do you want a picture of Tyler around?"

Emily wrinkled her nose, her fingers tightening around the cool glass. "I don't even want to think about him."

"Then don't."

Duck got to his feet again and took off his coat, hanging it on a hook by the front door. He emptied his pockets, keys, cigarettes, and a lighter, into a tray on a small table. Emily watched him, feeling sad at the slump in his shoulders. She didn't know Duck very well, only from her mom's stories about how he'd been in high school. Once he came into Iggy's for coffee, but he hadn't spoken much then, only smiled at her and left with the coffee.

"Your friend," Emily blurted out. "He's ... they're going to print his name in The Sentinel."

Duck turned to look at her, his gaze steady. "Mine as well."

"Oh." Emily looked at her glass. "I thought that might be why you were following him. Is he okay?"

Duck shrugged, still standing by his coat and the small table. "I barely know him."

"You barely know me and you took me home after saving me from my boyfriend," Emily said matter-of-factly. "So you don't have to really know someone to want to take care of them."

"You're a kid, Sandy's kid at that. Your boyfriend was an arse."

"Do you want him to be your boyfriend?"

Duck looked pained and he wandered back into the living room finally, standing at one of the windows and looking out at the darkness. Emily looked at his back in his checked shirt that reminded her of those shirts cowboys wore in black and white westerns. One of her mom's boyfriends had liked them, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to show her more than a couple of John Wayne movies.

"Was the guy in the picture your boyfriend?"

Duck turned to look at her, his expression oddly neutral now. "Why don't you try and sleep? It's late."

Emily set her water on one of the coasters on the coffee table. "I won't tell. I like you and I like him."

Duck took the quilt off the back of the couch and rearranged the pillows at one end. "Come lie down."

Emily slipped off her shoes and moved to the couch, accepting the end of the conversation. Duck tucked her in and brushed a gentle hand over her hair. The light was shining in the window, highlighting the shadows and lines of his face. He looked so tired to her and Emily reached up to touch his hair just as gently.

"Night, Emily," Duck said softly, getting to his feet.

"Duck," Emily said, propping herself up on her elbows. "Have you ever watched old Westerns?"

"When I was a kid."

"Your shirt," Emily said softly. "They used to wear shirts like that. It looks nice on you." She settled back under the quilt again. "Mr. Jarvis likes Westerns."

Duck shut the curtains, the room plunging into darkness. "Yes, he does."


End file.
